After the Storm
Chapter 2: Medication
Holy hell – a new Degrassi promo. I better hurry up and get this sucker written and posted before it becomes completely AU.
Thanks so much for all of the alerts, favorites, and reviews. I think I speak for every author on this site when I say that the best way to inspire an update is to tell us what you think of our writing. I know it's said ad nauseam in almost every author's note, but it really does make a difference to know that people are reading and that they have an opinion (good or critical - or good and critical—wink, wink) on what they have read. So an extra special thank you to those who took the time to review.
Can I get a "Booyah!" for the amazing band Garbage? Listen to their song "Medication." It will blow you away.
I do not own Degrassi or any of its characters, nor do I own The Exorcist or Metallica(although, I have to admit, I'm slightly intrigued by the prospect of such an ownership).
By the time Eli's phone rang, heralding CeCe's arrival outside of the store, Clare had exhausted her knowledge of Dead Hand and had instead moved on to humming bits of the thrash metal and hardcore punk songs she remembered from her time spent in Eli's hearse.
Squeezing Eli to try and distract him from the shift in movement, Clare brought the phone up to her ear, "CeCe?"
"Clare, I'm here!" CeCe cried. "Hang on!"
"Wait, CeCe. Let me try to get him up and out the door…" But her words fell on deaf ears, as the bell above the bookstore clanged harshly, and a whirlwind of wet, blond hair and smeared mascara blew in.
Wildly, CeCe Goldsworthy scanned the room. She searched through each section of the book store frantically, not acknowledging the employees who were trying to address her, until her eyes honed in on the intertwined couple tangled together on the floor of the food and wine section.
"Oh, Eli!" she called, dropping to the floor. "Oh, Baby, Mama's here. Mama's here." She grasped Eli's shoulders, trying to physically heft him out of Clare's grasp and into her maternal embrace. However, in the face of her damp assault, Eli only whimpered anxiously and crawled deeper into Clare lap. Undaunted, CeCe simply embraced the two of them, resting her head against Eli's back and letting her tears fall unhindered.
"CeCe," Clare interjected softly. "CeCe."
CeCe looked up at Clare, her eyes red rimmed and smeared with the remnants of her once heavy, black, eye make-up.
"He's OK, CeCe," Clare comforted. "But we need to be calm. We need to not make him any more stressed than he already is."
"I'm sorry," CeCe croaked, withdrawing her arms from the couple. "I just hate to see him like this." She looked at Eli, trying to bury himself in Clare's arms like a frightened two year old. "It's the fucking medicine! I'm sure of it!" she cried, her voice hoarse with tears.
CeCe shook her head violently in anger, sending a spray of cold water over Eli and Clare. "He hasn't been himself lately," she continued. "He's not eating. He's not sleeping. He can't sit for more than a minute at a time. He has absolutely no interest in anything." She looked at Clare desperately, her eyes pleading. "I don't know what to do, Clare. I just don't know what to do! I feel like, no matter what we try, we're slowly losing him." A broken sob erupted from her chest.
"CeCe," Clare said calmly but firmly, "it's going to be OK. He's going to be OK. We just need to get him to a doctor." She looked directly at the shattered woman. "We can do this, CeCe. We just need to stay calm."
"OK, OK," CeCe whispered in concession. "You're right. Let's try and get him to the car."
Clare lowered her head to Eli's ear. Tightening her arms around him, she whispered, "Eli, I need you to do something for me."
Eli just buried his face further into her neck, breathing hard.
"Eli, your mom is here with the car. We need to get you to the doctor so that you can start feeling better. We think you might be having a reaction to your medication." She took a deep breath and continued. "The doctor can help you, Eli – help you to feel better. We just need to get you there." Her voice, still calm, started pleading. "Will you help us, Eli? All you have to do is stand up and walk to the car. Can you do that for me?"
Eli didn't respond.
"I promise I'll be right here with you, Eli. I won't let you go. But you are going to have to move, Eli. You are going to have to help me. I can't lift you."
Clare gestured to CeCe to come around to the other side of Eli.
"OK, Eli," Clare instructed. "On the count of three, all three of us are going to stand up. Don't worry, CeCe and I will help you. Just lean on us, if you need to." She took a deep breath, "OK, are you ready?" She leaned up on her knees, hauling Eli up with her. "One, two, three..."
CeCe grasped Eli's shoulders while Clare kept her hold on his waist. Between the two of them, they managed to raise him into a standing position. Although he kept his desperate grip on Clare, once up, Eli was able to stand on his feet.
"Good job," Clare gasped, sweat breaking out on her forehead from the exertion. "Good work, Eli. Now we are going to walk to the car, OK?"
She started moving slowly backwards, bringing Eli with her. She could feel the curious stares of the book store patrons. What a show they were giving them. Trying her best to ignore the audience, Clare inched towards the exit, CeCe walking in front, clearing a path for the bizarre procession. For a final time, Clare heard the bells clang over the door, as she shot a glance at the bookstore manager. His relief at their exit was palpable.
Once outside, Clare was instantly hit with a battering of wind and rain. She shivered, and noticed goosebumps breaking out over the skin of Eli's bare arms.
CeCe's old Chevy was double parked, the engine still running. CeCe opened the back door, and Clare cautiously backed into the car, pulling Eli with her, careful that he didn't hit his head against the door jamb. Once they were both inside, CeCe shut the door and went around to the driver's side.
Finally settled in the car, Clare breathed out a sigh of relief. She was wet and cold. Her body ached from Eli's assault and from her time spent on the book store floor. Her head throbbed dully. She wanted nothing more than a hot shower and twelve hours of uninterrupted sleep. She wondered if there was any way for her to extract herself gracefully from the situation now that CeCe was here and could take over.
"Clare," CeCe broke into Clare's reverie. "Honey, do you mind coming with us to the doctors? I will call Bullfrog to come and take you home from there. I just don't want to take the time right now to drop you off. I want to get Eli to the hospital." She bit her lip in concern. "He's obviously having a panic attack, but, like I said, I think he may be reacting to the new drug he is taking too."
Clare closed her eyes wearily but forced out a reply, "Of course, CeCe. That's fine."
Noticing for the first time that the car was moving, Clare reached behind her one-handedly to grasp her seatbelt. She had to awkwardly adjust her body in order to get the belt around her and in between her body and Eli's. Once buckled, she thought briefly about trying to fasten Eli's seat belt as well. But, by this time, Eli had buried his face in her lap, his arms tightly wound around her legs. So she just said a brief prayer that CeCe would drive safely. Keeping one hand firmly on Eli's back and applying a comforting pressure, she ran the other hand through his hair softly.
From the front seat, CeCe continued to quietly berate herself for letting Eli get as bad as he had - her fear and helplessness spilling out unchecked.
Clare distractedly interjected comforting words when CeCe's tirade got particularly self-loathing. But mostly, Clare kept up her soothing ministrations, humming bits and pieces of tunes she knew Eli would recognize, as she watched the grey façade of downtown Toronto pass by. It was ironic really, Clare couldn't help thinking. More than a half a year after they had broken up because of Eli's suffocating dependency, Clare was still taking care of him – still trying to protect him from himself. And, she had to admit, it was wearing on her.
After what seemed like hours, but, in reality was only twenty minutes, CeCe pulled up to the entrance of the emergency room and put the car in park. She got out of the car quickly and carefully opened Clare's door.
Using a combination of soft persuasion and firm force, Clare managed to extract Eli from the car and walk him into the busy waiting room. While CeCe went to register Eli at the admissions desk, Clare scanned the room for a quiet spot.
The room was packed and the noise level jarring. The orange, plastic seats were almost all filled with the sick and hurt of Toronto. Pitiful moans and muffled cries from the waiting patients seemed to hang in a cloud above the assorted throng. A TV in the corner was blaring some inane talk show, trying to distract the pathetic crowd with its exaggerated volume.
Clare could feel Eli immediately start to tense up even more.
Catching CeCe's eye, Clare nodded to the hallway just beyond the waiting room and slowly walked Eli in that direction.
In the dimly lit hallway, the noise was dulled; its potency diluted. Tiredly Clare leaned her back against the wall and slowly sank down to the floor, bringing Eli with her. Once again, he fell against her – a warm, solid mass. Clare was beginning to grow accustomed to Eli's weight pressing on her body. He was starting to feel almost like an extension of herself.
"It shouldn't be long," CeCe said softly moments later, sinking down next to Eli and fondly rubbing his head. "I was right; they think it is a drug reaction. I called Bullfrog, and he's on his way."
After a few moments of silence, CeCe cleared her throat and turned to Clare, "Clare, I don't know what Eli would have done without you." Her voice was shaky and hoarse. "I just want you to know that we are so grateful to you. We're so grateful for everything that you've done -not just today, but before." Her voice cracked, as she looked at the broken boy in Clare's arms.
"God!" CeCe cried. "When I think about how difficult it's been for Bullfrog and me to handle Eli and his illness, I can't even imagine how hard it's been for you – how scary it's been." She closed her eyes, her face twisted in despair. "God damn it, Clare! You are just a kid! You both are just kids! It's so not fair that you have to deal with all of this shit!"
Clare took the hand she was using to smooth Eli's hair and reached across to softly touch CeCe's face, wiping the distraught woman's tears with the pad of her thumb. "It's OK," Clare whispered softly, hoping that, if she said it enough, she might believe it too.
"It's not," CeCe smiled tearfully, placing her hand over Clare's and holding it to her cheek. "It's so fucking not. But it is what it is."
"Elijah Goldsworthy," a middle aged nurse in turquois scrubs called from the doorway to the ER. "Elijah Goldsworthy."
Breathing deeply, Clare gathered her strength and hauled Eli up yet again.
…
They had been waiting for what seemed like hours. The nurse had led them to a tiny examination room in the back of the ER and, after a superficial examination of his vitals, had determined that, not only was Eli in the midst of a panic attack and, more than likely, a drug reaction, but he was also severely dehydrated. Eli had then been hooked up to an IV, Clare and CeCe covering his body in a desperate attempt to keep him from lashing out at the nurse when the needle was inserted.
Eli now lay shaking in Clare's lap, both of them stretched out on the examination table. CeCe, pulling a chair up close to the couple, held on to Eli's punctured arm to prevent him from ripping out the IV.
Exhausted, the three of them created a silently pathetic tableau – each holding on to one another in quiet desperation—waiting for the promised succor – hoping it would make a difference.
There was a sharp knock. Startled, CeCe and Clare looked towards the examination room door. Without waiting for an answer, door swung open, and Bullfrog lumbered in.
As soon as she saw her husband, CeCe released her grip on Eli's arm and threw herself into Bullfrog's embrace.
Clare, fearing the worst, placed her own hand on Eli's vacant arm, as she watched Bullfrog try to comfort his wife.
"Shhh, Babe. It's going to be fine," Bullfrog comforted, patting CeCe's back awkwardly. "The kid's tough. He's dealt with far worse than this."
"But look at him! How much more can he take?" CeCe cried. "How much more can we all take? I just want him to get better! I just don't want him to suffer any more!"
Clare felt her own eyes tearing up in the face CeCe's raw desperation over her child.
However, before Bullfrog could respond, the door opened again, and the doctor entered briskly.
"Mr. and Mrs. Goldsworthy?" he queried. "I'm Dr. Chang." The doctor briefly checked Eli's chart and glanced at CeCe's distraught face. "Why don't you tell me what is going on."
Tearfully, CeCe filled the doctor in on Eli's past history – the trauma in his life, his bipolar diagnosis, his struggle with medication. She let Dr. Chang know that Eli had recently switched medications and that he hadn't be eating or sleeping. She finished by describing the current panic attack, looking to Clare to help flesh out the details.
"Well, let's have a look," the doctor stated after CeCe's narrative came to a close. Lifting Eli's head gently out of Clare's lap, he examined Eli's eyes and mouth.
Eli whimpered anxiously but allowed himself to be manhandled, too exhausted to put up much of a fight.
The doctor checked Eli's heart rate, frowning in concern.
"He's definitely having a panic attack," the doctor stated, "the effects of which are exacerbated by his dehydration and the fact that he hasn't eaten. He also seems to be having an allergic reaction to his medication. From what you've told me, he's been taking this new drug for days on an empty stomach. It has built up dangerously in his blood stream causing this severe agitation and an aversion to outside stimuli." He looked thoughtfully at Eli's parents. "We can treat the dehydration with intravenous fluids, and I will order an anti-histamine to stop his body's reaction to the medication. However, we will either need to call his psychiatrist or he will have to submit to a psych consult here before I can prescribe any new mood stabilizer or antipsychotic drug."
"That's fine," CeCe breathed. "Just, please, do something."
The doctor nodded, "I'll send a nurse in with the anti-histamine. We will need to keep Eli here for a while under observation."
He turned to leave but paused at the door, "You know, it takes a while to learn to successfully manage a mental illness. Some medications that work wonders for some patients cause serious side effects in others. Some therapies work for some and are useless for others. It's going to take some time, Mr. and Mrs. Goldsworthy. Don't give up." Smiling sympathetically, he left.
The door closed with an ominous click, and, once more, silence descended- coating the room's occupants with a soft, numbing film. Feeling like she was intruding on a private, family moment, Clare began silently counting her breaths, focusing on the brief quiet between exhalation and inhalation – wishing she could crawl into that quiet and rest.
The door opened again, and the scrubs clad nurse who had put in Eli's IV returned with a small tube of medicine. She fitted a needle onto the end of the tube, and Clare steeled herself, thinking that Eli would have to endure yet another painful injection. However, instead, the nurse detached the IV from the bag of saline solution and depressed the medicine directly into Eli's IV tube. She then reattached the tube to the bag of fluids, smiled at the Goldsworthys, and left.
Within 30 seconds, Eli felt warmth invading his body. His painfully stiff muscles started to relax. The anxiety, tightly coiled in his chest and stomach, began to unwind. He opened his eyes cautiously, slowly focusing on the fabric that filled his gaze. It was soft and blue and warm. He stared at it curiously. It seemed to be moving back and forth in a rhythmic dance. It was strangely comforting.
In the distance, he could hear the voices of his parents quietly talking to each other. However, Eli was loath to leave the comfort of the blue fabric.
As the warmth continued to fill his body, he became aware of his hands. One was trapped in the grip of another's hand, held still on a flat surface. The other was tightly wrapped around something warm and soft. Tentatively, he moved this hand, smoothing it over the soft surface.
"Eli?" a voice questioned. It was a familiar voice, not his mother's but just as comforting.
With a great effort, he raised his head from the blue fabric, blinking in the harsh light. A pair of concerned, blue eyes looked down at him wearily.
"Shit!" he thought, lowering his head again. It was Clare. What the hell was he doing on Clare's lap? What was going on? He wracked his brain painfully, trying to remember, but a thick fog filled his mind, cloaking his memory.
"Eli?" He felt the hand gripping his own hand release and settle on his head. It started stroking his hair tenderly. "This has to be a dream," he thought to himself. There was no way Clare Edwards would be running her fingers through his hair.
He turned his head slowly and looked up again.
"Hey," Clare greeted him softly.
OK, so it wasn't a dream. He stared up at Clare blinking.
"How are you feeling?" she asked.
Eli opened his mouth to speak. "What happened?" he croaked, the words catching in his dry throat.
"Oh, Baby!" CeCe cried, throwing her arms around Eli in relief.
"Mom," Eli rasped, his head aching from CeCe's overzealous embrace.
"Hey, kiddo," Bullfrog called, putting his hand on Eli's leg. "It's good to have you back in the land of the living."
As much as he didn't want to, Eli carefully pushed himself up from Clare's lap, tentatively freeing himself from his mother's desperate death-grip. His head was spinning, as he leaned tiredly against the wall backing up to the examination table. Examination table? He must be in a hospital or a doctor's office. But how did he get here? He vaguely remembered being in a car.
Eli's throat was incredibly dry and raw. Looking at CeCe, he mouthed, "Water."
Wasting no time, CeCe ran to the nurses' station to get Eli a drink.
Looking at Clare confusedly, Eli tried again, "What happened?"
"You had a bad reaction to your medication," Clare explained. "You were severely dehydrated and that, along with the drug reaction, sent you into a pretty bad panic attack."
Suddenly, Eli remembered – walking in the rain, the book store, the oppressive heat, the blackness. He shuttered, and Clare put her hand comfortingly on his arm.
Before he could process Clare's loving gesture, CeCe came back with a large cup of water. Greedily, Eli drank, draining the cup in one gulp.
"I'll get some more," CeCe cried, happy to be doing something now that her boy was back.
"But how…?" Eli started. He swallowed nervously. "What are you doing here, Clare?"
"I found you," Clare stated. "At the bookstore. You were pretty bad, so I stayed with you and called your mom."
"Oh God!" Eli thought. "Oh God! Please not Clare." He was mortified that she had seen him struck down and humiliated by his illness yet again. The one person whom he most wanted to impress- to convince that he was OK- was the one who kept constantly seeing him at his worst.
"Thank God, Clare was there Eli," CeCe chimed in, having returned with another cup of water. "She was amazing. She was able to calm you down and get you here. I never would have been able to do it by myself. I'll tell you what -she's just a tiny thing, but she sure knows how to get you to move."
Suddenly, disjointed images flashed through Eli's mind – the suffocating panic, the overwhelming desperation clawing at him, threatening to swallow him whole. He remembered the hard floor of the bookstore—someone reaching out him – wrapping him in a warm embrace. He remembered a soft voice anchoring him- keeping him from being pulled down into the undertow of blackness. Clare.
Eli winced and tried to hide his embarrassment and shame by turning his attention to the cup of water. He gulped it down quickly.
Sighing, he turned to Clare, the white paper covering the examination table rustling in his movement. "I'm so sorry," he apologized hoarsely. "I'm sure that babysitting a basket case wasn't on your schedule of things to do today."
Clare looked at him, her eyes anxious and concerned, before shrugging her shoulders. "Not a problem, Eli. I really didn't have anything exciting planned. Besides, you know me and my love of community service," she teased with a shaky smile.
Bullfrog laughed, and Eli looked at Clare in amazement. She looked tired and beat up but so incredibly beautiful. And she was smiling at him. Clare Edwards was smiling at him.
Suddenly, Eli's stomach churned. He felt the two cups of water inexorably rising up his throat, threatening to choke him. Before he could even turn his head, a deluge of water and stomach acid came spilling out of his mouth and all over Clare's lap. He tried desperately, but he couldn't control his heaving stomach. It was like a scene from The Exorcist. All Eli needed was for his head to start spinning around to complete the homage. In fact, the attack of nausea was so violent that, when his retching finally subsided, Eli could only exhaustedly lean against Clare's chest and furiously fight to catch his breath.
Clare sat, eyes closed, focusing all of her energy on trying not to throw-up. She could feel the warm liquid pooling over her legs, soaking through her skirt and tights. She swallowed uncomfortably and tried not to think about what it was.
"Oh, hell, Clare," Bullfrog barked. "Did he just throw up on you?" He turned to his son trying to ease the awkward tension in the room with his own particular brand of humor. "Smooth, son! You certainly know how to charm the ladies. Anybody have any paper or a pen? I should take notes."
CeCe hit Bullfrog in the arm. "Oh, Eli, honey. Are you OK? Should I get a doctor?"
"Oh God," Eli cried, lifting his head from Clare's chest and looking down at the mess in her lap. "Oh fuck! Clare I'm so sorry." He frantically swiped at her vomit soaked lap, rubbing the noxious liquid in further in his effort.
Clare stilled his arm, trying not to breathe through her nose. "Eli! Eli!" she called. "It's fine. Just leave it."
Luckily, the nurse chose that moment to come and check on Eli. "So how is the patient doing?" she queried, before stopping and surveying the situation.
"Apparently, not so hot," she answered her own question, looking at Clare's lap. "Don't worry," she continued, patting Eli's arm soothingly. "It's a common reaction. Your stomach has had nothing but medication in it for far too long. It's going to take a while before you can keep things down." She smiled at him sympathetically, "But, other than that, how are you feeling, hon?"
Eli's face was completely red, his hand covered in his stomach's contents. "Well, considering that I just threw-up all over my ex-girlfriend- the same ex-girlfriend who just walked me through an incredibly humiliating panic attack, I'm just peachy," Eli paused to look at the nurse's name tag, "Ruth." He smirked sardonically, his face white and drawn. "How are you? You're looking well. Turquois is definitely your color."
"Ah hah," the nurse smiled, looking at CeCe and Bullfrog. "I know they are on the road to recovery when they regain their smart-assedness."
She turned to Clare, "Honey, why don't you come with me. I'm sure I can find you an extra pair of scrubs somewhere."
Giving a sympathetic look to a red-faced Eli, Clare jumped down from the examination table and tried not to think about the warm liquid dripping down her legs as she followed the nurse.
Eli groaned when the door closed. "Fuck my life," he grumbled, stoically allowing CeCe to clean up his hands with a wet paper towel. "Can't I ever catch a break? Is it too much to ask to not completely fall apart every time I see Clare?"
"Son, it's not as bad as it seems," Bullfrog tried to comfort, holding back a laugh. "Although, did you see her face when you puked on her? That was some quality projectile vomiting, kid. That poor girl!"
"Oh hush, Bullfrog," CeCe chastised. "Eli, I'm sure Clare is fine. Honey, she is about the strongest girl I know. You should have seen her today. She was the one keeping me calm – handling the situation like a pro. Any girl who can take you through a panic attack like the one you just had can surely handle a little vomit."
"Guys," Eli cried wearily. "You are not making me feel any better."
"Seriously, Honey," CeCe broke in, concern coloring her voice. "How are you feeling? We've been so worried, Baby. You were so out of it. You've been out of it for so long."
"I'm exhausted," Eli admitted, closing his eyes. "My throat hurts; my head is pounding. I feel like I was just run over by a semi-truck. I'm embarrassed as all hell. But," he paused to look at his parents, "for the first time in a long time, I don't feel like I'm about to jump out of my skin."
"That's good, Baby Boy," CeCe smiled. She reached down to touch his face. "We'll get all that bad shit out of your system, and I'll see if Dr. Roberts can come here and see you tomorrow. We will find a medication that works for you, Eli. The doctor says it will just take a little time."
"Whatever," Eli said tiredly, laying his head down on the paper-clad table, eyes closed. He shifted uncomfortably, crossing his arms for warmth.
CeCe took off her jacket and laid it over her son, smoothing down his hair with her hand. She started softly humming "Enter Sandman" by Metallica, one of Eli's favorite "lullabies" when he was little. Eli rolled his eyes at her hokey maternal gesture, but it wasn't long before the exhausted boy fell into a fitful sleep.
When Clare returned, decked out in her own stylish pair of turquois scrubs, her discarded clothes wrapped in a medical waste bag, Eli was softly snoring.
Stifling a laugh at Clare's ensemble, Bullfrog rose from his orange, plastic seat. "Come on, kiddo," he said to Clare, putting his arm around her. "Let me take you home."
Smiling at Bullfrog in acknowledgement, Clare detangled herself from Bullfrog's arm and walked over to CeCe. She put her hand on the older woman's shoulder. "Are you OK?"
CeCe smiled up at Clare. "I'm fine, Sweetie," she replied. "Thank you so much for everything. You really are amazing, you know?"
"Not amazing," Clare corrected tiredly, "just me." She sighed wearily. "Listen, do you think that they will keep him overnight?"
"Probably," CeCe replied. "They want him to see a psychiatrist before releasing him."
"Well, if he's still here tomorrow, I'll stop by for a quick visit," Clare offered, smiling tentatively.
"He'll love that, Baby," CeCe smiled. She put her hand on Clare's cheek in a soft caress, before turning her attention back to Eli.
Taking one last look at the battered boy, Clare turned to follow Bullfrog out of the door.
The ride to Clare's house was strangely silent. Previously, when Clare and Eli had dated, anytime Clare had spent time with Bullfrog, he usually kept up a running commentary – joking, singing, and trying his best to embarrass Clare. But tonight he was unusually quiet, turning on a soft, classic rock station on the stereo.
Thankful that she didn't have to keep up the pretense of being in control, Clare sank back into the leather car seat and allowed her eyes to drift close. Before she knew it, Bullfrog was gently shaking her awake.
"Clarabelle. Hey, Clare. We're here."
"Oh, sorry, Bullfrog," Clare apologized embarrassed, sitting up in her seat and gathering her things.
"Hey, don't be sorry," Bullfrog grinned. "You've had a hard day. You, of all people, deserve a little shut eye." He cleared his throat. "Do you want me to go in with you – explain to your mom what happened?"
"Thanks, Bullfrog, but I don't think that's necessary," Clare smiled. "Get back to your family; that's where you're needed most." She opened the car door and was halfway out, when Bullfrog grasped her wrist. She paused and turned back to him.
"Clare," Bullfrog said in a hoarse voice. "Listen, I just want you know that we really appreciate all you've done for the kid."
"Bullfrog .." Clare broke in.
"No, listen, Clare. I know how hard this is. Believe me, I know. I just want you know that… we think you're pretty damn awesome—uh…excuse my French."
"Thanks, Bullfrog," Clare smiled tiredly. Slipping her hand from Bullfrog's grasp, she slid out of the car.
Clare stood silently on the sidewalk next to her house, waving half-heartedly at the retreating tail lights of Bullfrog's car.
Yawning, she fished in her purse for her house key. It was only eleven, but her house was strangely dark. Jake was probably out with his friends, but Glen and her mother should still be awake.
She quietly opened the door and tiptoed into the foyer.
"Clare?" Glen was sitting in the living room, a cup of coffee in his hands.
"Hey, Glen," Clare replied tiredly.
"Clare," Glen's voice was a little more agitated than Clare had ever heard it before. "Where have you been? Your mother has been worried sick." He ran his hand through his hair, uncomfortable at the role he had been forced to assume in the absence of Clare's biological father. "You leave in the morning and don't come home until eleven at night? Not even a phone call to say where you are? Your mom's been pacing the floor since five."
He breathed out an exasperated sigh and continued, a definite edge to his voice. "I finally convinced her to take a sleeping pill at ten and told her I'd wait up for you. I was just about ready to go out and canvas the neighborhood."
"I'm sorry I didn't call," Clare croaked apologetically. "It's been a very long day." She sank onto the couch, exhaustingly retelling the day's events.
Glen listened attentively, his eyes widening at Clare's tale.
When Clare finished her narrative, silence filled the room. Glen sat in his recliner, not saying anything- just looking pointedly at Clare.
Silently, Clare waited a few minutes for him to respond. Was he angry? Upset? Mollified by her explanation? Clare didn't know Glen well enough to know how to gauge his reactions.
"Well," Clare said uncomfortably, realizing that maybe Glen wasn't going to say anything. "I'm pretty beat. If you don't mind, I'm going to hit it."
Tiredly, she rose from the couch to make her way up to her bed. But, before she could go far, Glen stood and stopped her. Tilting her face up to the lamp's light, he traced the faint red mark that ran along her cheek bone. "What happened here, Clare?" he questioned.
"Oh, I got in the way of Eli's fist when he was in the middle of his panic attack," Clare said dismissively. "It's nothing."
Glen's face took on a strange look. He shook his head in disbelief. "Clare, what you went through today – what you've been going through this past year – it's not nothing."
Clare closed her eyes and felt herself tear up. Clearing her throat in an attempt to hold it together, she joked, "Well, what doesn't kill us, makes us stronger, right?"
"Oh, Clare," Glen said softly, brushing her hair out of her face. "You don't always have to be so strong, you know. It's OK not to be the strong one, for once in your life."
In the face of Glen's blatant compassion, Clare lost it. Her tightly composed facade crumpled. Hot tears spilled from her eyes. She put her hand over her mouth, trying to stifle the ragged sobs that were threatening to rip from her heaving chest.
Glen simply put his arms around her, bringing her back down to the couch and resting her head against his chest. He stroked her hair, as she sobbed into his shoulder.
In the midst of her sorrow and exhaustion, Clare couldn't help but think how good it felt to be comforted - how good it felt to let someone else take charge. She allowed her mind to drift back to another memory – to another strong pair of arms – to another broad chest. She remembered her own father comforting her when she was eight years old and had just buried her cat, Snowbell.
Burrowing her face deeper in Glen's flannel shirt, Clare allowed herself to cry – to cry for the distraught eight year old who had not only lost her pet but who would, for all intents and purposes, lose her father and her sister just a few years later – to cry for the scared and damaged boy sleeping fitfully in a hospital bed – to cry for that boy's mother and father who desperately loved their son and had to watch helplessly as he dealt with a darkness that he shouldn't have to deal with – to cry for a relationship that had never even had a chance.
Taking refuge in Glen's arms, Clare finally dropped all of her carefully armed defenses and allowed herself to let go – allowed herself to feel the emotions that she had been repressing for so long.
What Clare didn't know was that - across the city, in a dingy hospital room that smelled vaguely of disinfectant and urine - a scared and exhausted boy was doing the same thing in his own mother's arms.